THE WEEK CRAWLED BY at an agonizing pace. The paparazzi were all over me after Heather’s publicity stunt on Wake Up with Stacy was reported by every media outlet and somehow even the NBC Nightly News decided our former marriage was an interesting story for the evening broadcast. My concentration was off a bit during polo practice and Ridge wasn’t shy to let me know I sucked.
The only moments of peace I had were early mornings when I’d hit the waves on my board. The ocean air wrapped around me, reminding me of another peaceful moment—my time with Harlow at the Hutton Summer House shindig.
“You haven’t touched any of your food, Grady. What’s the matter? Does the quiche not taste good?”
I looked over to see Ella Connolly frowning. “It’s not a new recipe. I’ve made it at least a dozen times. Did I forget an ingredient?” she asked out loud to no one in particular.
“Babe, it’s delicious. Stop stressing out,” Alex said.
“It’s all great,” I said, digging my fork into the home fries. We were sitting on the patio at the home she shared with her fiancé, Alex Robertsen. Ella’s brother, Ronan and his fiancée, Holliday Prescott, sat across from me sipping Bloody Marys. Three years ago, I would have laughed my ass off at the mere thought of sharing a meal with Ronan Connolly, but the two of us had become friends. All thanks to a night out in Park City that involved a bottle of Irish whiskey and three stolen snowmobiles.
Holliday was one of my favorite people in the world. My relationship with her had been complicated—previously. We’d gone from lovers to frenemies, finally settling into a comfortable relationship as friends. If I was being honest, Holliday had become one of my closest friends. Having Alex’s and Ella’s friendships were an added bonus. Despite giving me shit about Heather, all four of them offered me unconditional support during the divorce.
“What’s up, Grady?” Holliday asked.
“He’s miserable because men do not brunch. It’s not in our DNA,” Alex offered, rocking his son to sleep. “Saturdays are for sports and beer, not brunch.”
“How could you not like brunch—tons of food, booze and conversation. What’s not to love?” Ella’s English accent was light with laughter. “Although I hate you lucky bastards who get to carbo load.”
“Seriously, Ella, everything tastes great,” I reassured, pouring more coffee into my mug.
“That’s the second time he’s used the word, great,” Ronan pointed out. “Okay, James, out with it—what did Heather do now?”
How was it possible to be sitting at this table and not a soul here had heard about Heather’s little “cry me a river” stunt.
Holliday punched his arm. “That is a name we do not mention, I thought we agreed henceforth she will be addressed as Lulalamoan—like a whore.”
I’ll never live this embarrassment down. Ella and Alex exchanged glances and nearly woke their son, Will, with the laughter. Holliday had a smug look on her face, fully satisfied with the clever nickname she’d given my ex-wife. It was clever, I’d give her that.
Neither Ella, nor Holliday were fans of my ex-wife for reasons that involved Ronan. He held little regard for her and I couldn’t say that I blamed him. There were times—multiple times—when Heather had been selfish and manipulating. What she did to Ronan and me was almost unforgiveable, but I believed in her and that she was capable of change. When she begged me to help her get clean and sober, I did. I loved Heather in her darkest hours and it hadn’t been enough. I wasn’t enough for her.
I shook my head. “There’s not enough bleach in the world to scrub that memory from my mind.”
“We could try hypnotizing you,” Ella offered. “Or there’s always electroshock therapy.”
“I thought electroshock therapy was used to regain lost memories,” Holliday said, stabbing a strawberry with her fork.
“I believe it’s more commonly used to treat depression, and I remember Carrie Fisher saying that it causes memory loss.”
Four pairs of eyes locked on mine, two sets narrowed the others wide-eyed.
“Yeah, I know stuff,” I replied, cocking a brow. “Not just a pretty face. I do have a degree from Brown, you know.”
Alex stood and then carried Will inside, placing him in his bassinet. He returned with the baby monitor or at least I think it was a baby monitor, it looked like a high-tech gadget from the MacGyver collection.
“You know what you need,”—Alex pointed to me with this fork—“You need to get back in the game.”
“I agree, our wedding is coming up in a few weeks.” Ella nudged Alex, and then plucked one of her famous homemade, raspberry-lemon, gluten-free muffins from the basket. “I can set you up. Honestly, it can’t be that hard getting over Lululamoan.”
I groaned pressing my palms to my eyes. “Please don’t set me up, Ella.”
“How about we give the man some time to heal before we pile on the hate for Heather and start compiling a list of eligible bachelorettes to be the next Mrs. James,” Ronan said.
“Per Page Six and Hollywood and Tinsel dot com, Grady is back in the game,” Holliday interjected.
“Yeah, I think I read something about you hooking up with a model,” Ella added, sliding her blonde hair over her shoulder. “You were photographed outside Vacancy in LA a month ago, with a certain dark haired L’Oréal model.”
“A model, huh?” Ronan asked, draping his arm around Holliday’s shoulders.
“Maybe you should date someone not so famous,” Holliday offered, before popping a grape into her mouth.
I laughed, jutting my chin in their direction. “That’s rich, says the woman who is going to marry a movie star this summer.”
“All right,” Alex said, scooping some fruit onto this plate. “So, are you dating the model . . . or just sleeping with her?”
“I’m not sleeping with her . . . anymore.” I decided to give them a morsel and put them out of their misery. I returned my focus to the quiche and my great mood, tuning out the chatter around me. When I married Heather, I was ready for everything including serial monogamy. I had convinced myself, I wanted it all—the house, the two point five kids and the dog or cat, maybe both. Did I still want those things? It was hard to say that love and marriage was for suckers when I was sitting at table surrounded by happy in love soon to be married couples.
“Well, I guess we know what has Grady in a mood,” Holliday announced, tapping at her phone screen. “The headline on Gossip Cop reads: Heather Young spotted leaving dinner with friends in Malibu after Wake Up with Stacy appearance.”
“What happened on Wake Up with Stacy?” Ella asked, pushing her plate towards the center of the table.
Normally this was Ella’s bread and butter, being clued in on all the celebrity gossip. “Read the article, I’m sure all the sordid details are there.”
Their hands flew to their phones, as I scooped some red pepper, feta and spinach scramble onto my plate.
Ella jumped up from her chair. “That cow!”
“I’m disappointed, Ella, I thought you’d be right on top of my drama.” I smirked.
With her head still focused on her phone, she flipped me the bird. “I’ve been a little busy, plus everything in the tabloids has been so boring lately. I’ve just been focused on Will, the wedding, and the shop.”
Holliday huffed out a humorless laugh. “Emotionally abusive? That’s a joke—a total lie.”
“What a twat. That woman is a lying twat.” Ella began gathering up the plates, but Alex stopped her by pulling her onto his lap.
“Wow, man,” Ronan said. “So, what are you going to do?”
I shrugged. “Haven advised that I not say anything, she seems to think that Heather is just seeking attention.”
“No shit,” Holliday scoffed. “There is one thing for certain—she loves the spotlight.”
“I told Haven to set up some appearances with a few of my favorite charities over the next few weeks,” I said, reaching for the Bloody Mary pitcher.
“Don’t forget Pour Fest is next weekend,” Ella added, pointing at me. “It’s no Glastonbury, but I guess we’ll have to make due.”
“I don’t want to encourage the paparazzi to follow me around while I’m out with you guys.”
Ella shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean it like that—we can post a few pictures of you on Instagram and twitter of you having fun with your friends.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Ronan said. “And you know I don’t normally get on board with this shit.”
“Your fans will love seeing you surrounded by your support system,” Holliday added. “Fuck Lululamoan, gobble up all the positive press.”
Yeah, and I wouldn’t mind getting some sense of satisfaction that it would drive Heather crazy with jealousy that despite her underhanded tactics I was out having the time of my life.